


Open locks, Whoever knocks!

by Dienda



Category: True Detective
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Halloween Challenge, Trick or Treating, happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dienda/pseuds/Dienda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girls walked in front of them giggling and chatting; they were both princesses, pastel ball gowns fluttering about like petals every time they sprinted to a doorway, plastic pumpkins in hand. </p><p>It wasn’t as bad as Rust had thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open locks, Whoever knocks!

Making his way to Marty’s house was nothing short of a nightmare. There were throngs of children going up and down the streets; witches, werewolves, ghosts, laughing, running, sprinting from one sidewalk to the other; clusters of teenagers scoffing and shoving, pretending they were too old to get excited about running around in costumes. Rust drove slowly, almost hunched over the wheel; the very thought of speeding up in the middle of this made his guts lurch.

Earlier, at the station, when Marty had asked him if he’d like to come over tonight, Rust’s first impulse had been to say no. He wanted to be away from the whole concept of Halloween ―perverted traditions aside― because he’d rather not fall too deep into the memory of the one time he’d had the chance to see Sophia excited about trick-or-treating; bouncing around the living room, humming and pretending to jump from flower to flower. How she’d stood in front of the mirror once her costume was on, blue eyes moving, intent, from her purple dress to her fairy wings, to the leaves and pansies Claire had pinned to her hair. The way she’d tugged at their hands to make them lift her off the ground as they walked down the street.

Then again, Rust knew that if he stayed home he was going to get drunk and high and do exactly that; throw himself onto the sharp thorn of remembrance. He was also afraid he might do something stupid if any children came knocking on his door while he was fucked out of his mind. He couldn’t deal with that.

So Rust had chosen the lesser of two evils. He was getting used to the idea of Marty’s girls ―he’d been to the Harts’ home about a dozen times since that disastrous first dinner last year―, he knew exactly how much it hurt to look at them. He could get used to be around them; almost like a vaccine, the right amount of sorrow to keep him from breaking down the inevitable next time he had to interact with a little girl.

He pulled the truck into the driveway, next to Marty’s car. He was greeted with a duet of excited squealing, Maisie and Audrey giving their father barely enough room to open the door.

“Jesus Christ, let the man arrive, would you?” Marty grabbed Rust’s arm and pulled him in while ushering the girls towards the living room. “Go get your pumpkins. Put your shoes on.”

Rust scowled; it was then that he noticed Maggie’s car was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, man,” Marty began, voice apologetic. “Maggie was gonna take the girls trick-or-treating while you and I worked our files but one of her colleagues broke her fucking arm or something, and she had to go in. Would you mind tagging along?”

“Trick-or-treating” Rust deadpanned.

“I know you’re not exactly into the whole Halloween thing but my kids are really excited about going out, and you already drove all the way out here.” There was an almost desperate edge to Marty’s voice and Rust had the certainty that his partner knew exactly what would become of him if he went back to his place. “I swear we can get to work as soon as we’re back. I’ll owe you one, buddy.”

He was about to turn around and leave but couldn’t find any trace of pity in Marty’s expression, just the wide-eyed need to keep Rust from hurting too bad. Rust nodded with a sigh and pointed to the ledger and thin stack of folders under his arm. “Alright, just let me put these down.”

_____

 

The girls walked in front of them giggling and chatting; they were both princesses, pastel ball gowns fluttering about like petals every time they sprinted to a doorway, plastic pumpkins in hand. It wasn’t as bad as Rust had thought it would be. He let Marty talk about anything and everything; paying attention to what his partner said made it easier to tune out the laughter and tiny voices swirling around them. Rust had to admit Marty’s presence was the best tether to reality he’d ever had; his bluntness, the way he demanded attention like a goddamned itch helped to keep Rust grounded when his mind wanted to get away from him. Like a rope he could grab with both hands to pull himself ashore.

“So they decide to check it out,” Marty continued his recap of some horror flick he wanted Rust to watch.

They were standing on the sidewalk, shoulder to shoulder, watching Audrey and Maisie knock on a heavy wooden door. Rust wondered vaguely if he and Marty looked like cops even now, clad in wife beaters, flannel and jeans; if there was something to give them away besides the alertness in their eyes.

“What kind of morons find that kind of shit in their basement and don’t get the fuck out of the house and call the police?”

“Teenagers.” Rust scoffed. Marty huffed right back. “Shut up. Something tells me you did your fair share of creepy, stupid shit when you were a gangly teen.”

Before he could retort, the girls came back to their side, sporting matching grins.

“Daddy, I got a packet of Whoopers.” Maisie beamed at Marty.

“That right, baby? Save them for me, alright?” He reached down to take her hand. “Okay, let’s cross the street.”

Rust was startled when he felt Audrey’s hand closing around his fingers. Marty looked back at them and one side of mouth twisted up. Rust looked down to find her smiling at him. He managed to stay calm because she was all Marty, at least the bits that counted; his hair, his smile, the mischief in his bright blue eyes. Rust returned the hold with a gentle squeeze and let Audrey lead him to the opposite row of houses.

 

They went farther than Maggie would have allowed because the girls asked and Marty thought spoiling his children was the kind of thing that made him a good father. Perhaps it did, at some level.

“Alright, last house,” announced Marty. It was fully dark now.

Maisie and Audrey raced to reach the door before it closed completely. A group of children was coming back to the street, herded by a young woman carrying a toddler. The little girl was wearing a bee costume, black tights and yellow shoes, her sandy curls pulled back in a ponytail, flowers pinned to them. Rust felt his stomach tightening and took a step closer to his partner. Marty followed his line of sight and didn’t say a word, just took the remaining space between them until the length of Rust’s arm was pressed against the side of his chest. Rust leaned into the touch, grateful and ashamed.

They watched as the woman at the door poured candy into the girls’ already full pumpkins. She must have asked them if they were alone because they shook their heads and turned to point at Rust and Marty. The woman gave them a startled, wide-eyed stare that followed them all the way across the lawn as they rejoined the men in a chorus of laughter. Audrey clung to Rust’s hand and Maisie threw herself at Marty’s legs, hugging his waist.

Marty narrowed his eyes at them. “Now, what did you kids say to make that lady pull that face?”

The girls dissolved into another fit of laughter.

“She asked if our mom had come with us.”

“We told her we had no mommy, only two daddies,” Maisie said between giggles.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell did you do that for?” Marty’s eyebrows went up almost to his hairline and his cheeks reddened. He turned to Rust. “Can you believe this shit?”

“Martin, don’t use that language in front of the children,” Rust said in his best longsuffering wife tone.

Marty glared at him and Rust felt a smile tugging the corner of his lips.

_____

 

When they got back to the house Audrey and Maisie emptied their pumpkins on the living room floor and turned the TV on.

“Remember, anything without a wrapping goes in the trash. And don’t eat too much or your mother’s gonna kill me when she gets back.”

Rust and Marty sat down at the dinner table. They were trying to get a timeline of the night their current vic had been murdered, and had to wade through a seemingly endless list of possible witnesses they had to start interviewing in the morning.

“I say we go for the uncle first; they worked together that afternoon,” suggested Marty as he went to get two beers out of the fridge.

“Do we have his work address?” Rust searched in the list of KAs.

Maisie and Audrey came in then, and dropped a small mountain of hard candies on a clear corner of the table, multicolored wrappers spilling over the polished wood.

“For your desk at work, daddy,” Audrey declared sweetly before taking her sister back to the TV.

“Yeah, don’t be all in awe of their generosity,” said Marty as he sat back down. “They hate these, that’s why they’re being all giving.” He started putting the candies in two piles, one by one. When he was done he pushed one pile to Rust’s side of the table. “For your desk.”

 

They went back to sorting through names and maps, stablishing a route for the next day’s journey. Rust enjoyed when they worked together like this, quiet and busy; they could follow each other’s line of thought almost like they were synchronized. In the early days Rust had had plenty of doubts about their partnership, but after the whole mess with Ledoux they’d found their pace and the way the fit together.

They were leaning over a roadmap of the bayou when Maisie snuck into the room.

“Rust,” she said shyly. When he turned to look at her she took his hand and wrapped it around a chocolate bar. “For you.”

“Thanks, Mace,” he whispered, borrowing Marty’s nickname for her.

Maisie gave him Maggie’s wide, pretty smile and bounced out of the room.

“A Snickers?” Marty let out a low whistle. “Not even I get a Snickers.”

“Well,” Rust drawled as he tugged at the wrapper. “I think this makes it obvious who’s the favorite dad here.” Directed at Marty, the words didn’t tear him apart.

His partner let out a reluctant huff of laughter. “Man, wait till Maggie hears about that one.”

Rust broke the bar in two and passed one half to Marty. They ate their chocolate while they worked.


End file.
